We're heading out for a week of travel. My presence here will be sporadic but I'll pop in a few times to let you know what we're up to.
Can I let you in on a little secret? We're off to find our farm!
More soon!
ox
It seems the fire settled somewhat overnight, but it's expected to pick up again in the heat of today. Again, sending rain-drenched thought to those battling the blaze(s) and safe returns to all those currently displaced from their homes.
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Last week's holiday travel brought Zinnia's airplane count up to 33. I guess you can say we travel a lot. With family spread over many states along with our habit of house swapping in interesting places, we've been on the go these last 19 months. With all of those planes and airports, I've become an accidental expert of traveling with a baby.
From two hour flights to nine hour, over night legs, we've done it all. Take off at 6AM? Check. Flight at 10PM? Done it. You may already be cringing, thinking of the hassle of traveling with a babe in tow. Maybe you're reliving that four hour flight with a young one screaming and kicking your seat. Sure, sad things happen to people, and to babies when locked in an aluminum can at 30,000 feet, but tears and tantrums are an inevitable part of life. I'm thankful after every flight that we have been l.u.c.k.y. to escape tears while flying. In fact, (knock on wood!) we've yet to have one single bout of crying on any plane we've flown.
How do we do it? I totally believe we've survived all those flights unscathed due to equal parts Zinnia's temperament and how Steve and I approach travel... with a generous (and I mean generous) sprinkle of good luck thrown in.
Here are a few things that I've found helpful when navigating travel with a little one ::
Travel light.
Seriously. We carry Zinnia through the airport with our trusty Beco carrier. It keeps her close and comfortable amidst the sea of strangeness and these days I can wear her through security as well. I have to admit I gloat a little when I can have my shoes and belt off, and my bags on the conveyor before the business guys have their laptops out. And oh, those poor parents who huff around the airport with strollers, over stuffed diaper bags, back packs and car seats. I feel worn out just looking at them. The airlines aren't allowed to charge you to check a car seat so do yourself a favor and check it as soon as possible. Why wait and do it at the gate if it means you have to carry it all that way? (Note: I may change my tune on this when we have to start buying Zinnia her own seat.)
I also keep our diaper bag as small as possible. Only the essentials for Zinnia plus one emergency change of clothes. And I skip any luxuries for myself. Magazines and books for this Mama are on hold for the next few years. There's no time to catch up on the latest Vanity Fair with a busy toddler in my lap!
Keep it fun.
The week before we travel I hide a few of Zinnia's favorite books and small toys. When she sees them again mid-flight she is thrilled to read the same story over and over and over. If and when our books fail to interest her we turn to the ol' Sky Mall magazine. It's full of pictures of dogs and cats and we've been known to let her tear out pages to keep her happy and busy. Sometimes I will buy a few treats from the Dollar Store to bring out mid-flight: small balls, flash cards of animals, a new coloring book. And last but not least, a cup of ice from our friendly flight attendants can keep a little one happy longer than you might expect. I don't recommend letting your toddler roam the aisles. My gut tells me that once they get the feeling of freedom, they're not going to give it up easily (insert tantrum here). Keep them happy (and safe) in their seats.
Boobies and good snacks.
If you're still breastfeeding then you know the power of the boobies. Mama's milk is pretty much a cure-all for anything that ails a baby, and flying is no different. Boobies smooth out all the bumps: take-off, landing and all the in-betweens.
And remember, anything your baby is drinking will help their ears, not just the boobies. Just keep the fluids flowing, especially during take off and landing as the swallowing helps keep their ears from building up too much pressure.
Zinnia was six weeks old on her first flight. I was especially nervous because we were traveling without Steve. I expected the worst from my baby and my fellow passengers. I was worried about how her ears would handle the pressure. Would she scream? Cry? Would I? And what would I do if people hassled me? The fears of a new Mama aren't always rational, I'll admit, but I'd been on plenty of flights with crying babies, and unkind travelers. Fortunately, Zinnia nursed and slept the entire two hour flight to Nana's.
About those snacks - you know they only serve cookies and pretzels on planes these days, right? Bring good snacks on board so that you and baby keep your cool. We love: cheese slices, crackers, apples, bananas, peas, prunes and Lara bars. Avoid sugar at all costs. I once saw a mom feed her two toddlers candy and soda before boarding a flight then I watched in horror as the kids' melt downs (hello, sugar crash) were met with a harsh hand. Sugar and confined places are not a good match, especially for little ones.
Diapering and the lavatory.
First off, if you're traveling alone with your babe you might as well go into what I call "shut down mode." That means little to no fluids for you until you're about to land. You know how small those bathrooms are, right? Imagine peeing in one of those while holding your baby in your lap. Pulling up your pants with one hand...buttoning, zippering...oh dear, buckling your belt. With one hand. While trying to keep your baby, your squirmy, squirmy toddler from touching anything and everything gross. All I can say is skip the beverage cart and hold your pee.
And as far as diapering goes, go ahead and start praying, hoping, wishing, begging and crossing your fingers that your little one does not have a poo on the plane. Did you know that most planes don't even have changing tables on board? At the most, one bathroom of the 3-5 on board might have a teeny-tiny board that folds down over the seat. I once changed Zinnia's diaper on that thing when she was just a few months old and I don't care to repeat it. It is about the size of your seat back tray table, and just as flimsy. On one flight when Zinnia and I were again, traveling sans Steve, I heard that familiar rumble from her diaper. I collected my things and made my way to the back of the plane and was informed by the flight attendant that there was not a changing table on board.
Me: Ummm, what should I do?
FA: Well you can lay her on the toilet seat.
Me: Uh, that's disgusting. I'd rather do it on the floor in the aisle.
FA: Well I think the seat would be cleaner.
Me: You can't be serious. People don't crap in the aisle.
With that, I marched back to my seat realizing I'd forgotten my changing pad. Noticing I was exasperated the Grandpa next to me asked if I was okay. I told him there wasn't a changing table on board and he kindly suggested I change Zinnia's diaper in the empty middle seat between us. Ah, thank you for kind Grandpas that aren't put off by a little poo!
Once we reach the gate with a fresh diaper, it's time to play before we pre-board (Love pre-boarding!). Now's the time to wear the girl out. She runs up and down the concourse (usually with Dada), climbs under seats and before our most recent flight, made a gymnastics course through the carry-on sizing rack.
When you check in make sure the attendant makes note of the fact that you have a "baby in arms". Sometimes they'll give me a separate boarding pass and sometimes they'll just add a note to mine. Either way you need something so that the TSA doesn't hassle you. And now that Zinnia is approaching two years old I travel with a copy of her birth certificate. I read somewhere that the airlines require you to have this documentation to prove your child's age, but I've only been asked for it twice. I keep a copy in the diaper bag, just in case.
Keep calm and carry on.
Even with our apparent good-flying ju-ju (thank you, thank you airplane gods), I still have minor heart palpitations before each flight. I know that the mood of a baby or toddler can change in an instant and I fear that our good luck may run out at some point. I sing my Bob Marley airplane song as I step across the threshold of every plane...don't worry about a thing, cuz every little thing is gonna be alright...
If you or your baby cries or screams (it's bound to happen) don't be afraid to tell any evil-eyers that they too were once a baby. Remember, you will never see these people again. And with that, cross your fingers that your seat mates are kind old Grandpas that don't mind a little poo.
Safe travels and good luck!
For travel guidelines from the FAA go here.
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And we're off...
We worked our house-swap juju again and manifested a return trip to the 808.
Fall and fleeces, you'll just have to wait. It's swim suits and bare feet for the next three weeks!
More from our favorite Hawai'ian paradise on Monday.
ox
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Any trip to Georgia is not complete until I find my favorite Southern delicacy - which is conveniently found on rural road side stands. I always go to the same stand near my Dad's house, but I missed my opportunity this trip. Luckily, Steve spotted a sign on the way to the lake.
Years of research has led me to the conclusion that the worse the grammar on the sign, the better the peanuts. I swear this is true.
This batch was so-so.
Exactly what is a boiled peanut? I call them Southern Edamame and you either love them or you hate them. They're slow boiled in a salty brine in a huge cast iron pot. My Nanny used to add beer to hers.
My Mom and I can tear through a bag of these in no-time. Steve loves them now too. Although years ago, when he first tired them, after each bite he'd grimace, "Ugh, these are nasty... give me another one." Now if he isn't able to join me on my trips down south I always bring him back a bag in my luggage.
Looks like Zinnia carries the boiled peanut gene too.
We wrapped up our busy week in the ATL with a little bit of this...
courtesy of my dear Aunt & Uncle, who generously shared their slice of Southern paradise.
Next time we're definitely spending more time at the lake!
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Yes, I'm talking about pumping breast milk. In public. Well not really in public, but in a public place.
This week my days are spent at the Marriott Marquis in Atlanta, which means I'm away from my nursling for many hours every day. This also means I need a private place to pump so that Nana has milk for Zinnia while I'm away.
I began querying RID, my interpreting organization hosting the conference, on Monday. The three reps I spoke with looked at me like I was a crazy woman and all three suggested the public bathroom. The bathroom. "Really?" I asked them, "is that the best we can do?"
From there I went to the concierge desk and spoke with a young fella who blushed and stumbled over his words as he told me that he had no other options. He gave me a brief glimmer of hope when he said, "Well there is the tenth floor".
The tenth floor?
"Yeah, there's a bathroom up there that's out of the way, and there shouldn't be too many people using it."
I told him as nicely as I could, "Umm, no I will not be sitting on a toilet while I provide nourishment for my child."
I mean, can you imagine? Would you have your lunch on the toilet?
I have to add that the Marriott is the largest hotel in Atlanta, a city of more than four million people. The place is huge. It has hundreds (thousands?) of rooms. I was in shock that no one could find a small room for me to pump in for twenty minutes a day.
I was in a bad way that afternoon as I left the hotel. I'm generally an optimistic person, my glass is always half-full, but as I stepped out onto that hot asphalt I had no faith in society.
My half-full glass had a leak.
What the hell is up with us that we do not allow comfortable places for mothers to feed their babies? I happily nurse in public everywhere I go: the grocery store, 24 airplanes to date, restaurants, shopping malls, bars, swimming pools...you name it, I've probably nursed there. I'm discreet, but unabashed in my approach to breastfeeding my child. Pumping though, that's a little different.
I do enjoy a bit more privacy while hooked up to my trusty Medela Pump-n-Style automatic pump. Here's the thing though, if we as a society were more accepting of breastfeeding, if we weren't so freaked out by seeing a babe attached to their Mama's boobs, if we weren't such a walking contradiction, celebrating cleavage at the same time we shun seeing it on lactating Mamas, then maybe, just maybe we might think of providing comfy places for nursing Mamas to nourish their children.
I was drained. My glass was... empty.
Tuesday morning I walked into that Marriott, with my Medela Pump-n-Style slung over my shoulder, and I had a mission - I was going to find a place to pump that did not involve a toilet. Period.
It's all about who you talk to, and with a little more effort, I finally made my way to the top. I tracked down the two ladies organizing this massive conference, briefly told them of my needs and within 10 minutes they'd found me a empty conference room, had me a key made and I was good to go. Just. Like. That. I had my own mini-conference room in which to pump.
Why wasn't I referred to these two gals yesterday?I wondered. Nevertheless, my faith was renewed.
My glass filled up again. And so did my bottles.
Fortunately, this is the first time I've encountered any such challenge with breastfeeding my daughter. I am grateful that my family is fully supportive of me providing the best, most naturally-perfect food for Zinnia, and I've never been ostracised while breastfeeding in public.
Even so, this felt big and it felt defeating. If I were the kind of person to give up easily, I would have been sitting clothed, on the toilet while my Medela hummed away.
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It's only Tuesday and I already feel like it's been a long week.
:: Breathe ::
I'm in Atlanta this week to attend an interpreting conference - coinciding with mine and Dad's birthday was a bonus. The downside is that for the first time since Zinnia's birth I'm going to be away from her for 6-8 hours a day. (Sigh) So far she's happily playing with Nana (though not so happily napping) while Dada is working in the next room, and Mama is downtown getting CEU's.
One thing that I'm not willing to do while here is participate in what the ATL calls rush hour traffic. Nope, not gonna do it. Where I live, traffic means it takes twenty minutes to get across town, not two hours. So this week I'm commuting to downtown everyday for my conference via MARTA (the rapid transit system).
When I was a teenager, the slogan was MARTA is Smarta.
I have to agree.
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Take me back to the place where I first saw the light
To the sweet sunny south, take me home
Where the mockingbirds sing me to rest every night
Oh, why was I tempted to roam?
Garcia, Grisman
We're in Georgia this week celebrating my Dad's 60th birthday. I too was born on this day, his birthday, 37 years ago. As a child I was always told, "you were your Daddy's birthday present," which of course meant that until I was six years old (or so) I thought that I came wrapped in a box with a big bow on top.
Yesterday we celebrated with a Southern style cook-out with friends and family.
Naturally, Zinnia was the star.
Side note - I made this little dress using Anna Maria Horner's Pretty as a picture pattern. It's definitely one of my favorites.
The perfect cake for the Harley Davidson ridin' Grandaddy.
Happy birthday Dad!
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